They're Mollusks
Snails Aren't Bugs
Admiral Biscuit
EFNW Entry II
The first day of school is a tough day for any foal. They're dragged away from their parents and home to spend a day with a group of ponies they don't know, and have to follow the instructions of a surrogate parent.
Of course, that same day comes with its share of opportunity, as well. There is a chance to make new friends, and for foals to discover what makes them special. There is also a tub of tasty paste in the classroom, but they won't learn about that for a few days.
The first day blurs by so quickly that nopony really learns anything. The nascent pecking order of the class is forming, and a few students have already taken on the roles they will have for the entire duration of their educational career. By the end of the first lunchtime, the class bully has emerged.
By the second day, the fillies and colts have begun to become accustomed to their new circumstances, and believe that recess is a special treat, forgetting that until a very recently, all day was recess. On the other hoof, nopony except Diamond Tiara has a swingset at home, and she makes sure that everypony in class knows that.
So it was, in this tumultuous time of change, that a chubby stallion bravely crossed the grassy playground towards his future friend.
He didn't set out with the intention of forming a friendship that would last beyond cutie marks and first dates and graduation and getting a job and moving to Manehattan because his wife insisted that there was no culture in Ponyville; no, he was just curious, and he hadn't yet learned that sometimes curiosity is not rewarded in the public education system.
He was curious why the gangly unicorn had his muzzle down in the grass.
Now, Snips knew about grass. It was a reasonable assumption, given his body shape, that he was an expert at gustatory pursuits (and indeed, one day he'd make his mark on Equestria as a food critic). Since he knew about grass, he knew that the stuff which grew in the playground wasn't particularly tasty. It was largely crabgrass and weeds, plants which could survive abusive foals who didn't care one whit for the aesthetics of the playground.
He also knew that a proper pony didn't just eat anything. While it was true that they could survive on pasture grasses eaten fresh from the ground, there were so many better things to eat. Things which had been sugared, buttered, and/or fried. Things which came on a bun, with mayonnaise dripping from them.
On multiple occasions, his mother had informed him that there were starving ponies in Neighpon who would eat his dinner if he didn't. That had been less of a motivation than the withholding of dessert, but he remembered that such ponies existed. His mom said they did, and she wouldn't lie.
He had never expected to see such a pony in Ponyville.
Granted, he wasn't sure what a Neighponese pony might look like, but it was obvious that this gangly pony didn't eat enough, therefore he must be starving—proven since he had his muzzle in the grass—and therefore he must be Neighponese. It was simple logic.
He was about to speak, when it occurred to him he didn't know what to say. He could offer to share his lunch—but to make such an offer would obviously reduce his own caloric intake, and that was to be avoided. After all, his father had frequently told him he was a growing colt.
Luckily, the other colt saved him the embarrassment by speaking first.
"Don't take another step."
His ears perked. He knew that line. Con Mane had said it to Honey Rider in Doctor Neigh, right when she was about to step on a tripwire. He had no idea that there was such a thing at the Ponyville schoolhouse, but if there was a Neighponese student, tripwires and spies and evil villains were equally plausible.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"Right there." The gangly colt inclined his head, pointing his muzzle towards a patch of grass.
Snips stared intently, but didn't spot anything. If memory served, Con Mane had been alerted by a flash of light off the tripwire, so he tilted his head, in the hopes that it might become apparent.
Nothing.
He shifted his gaze. Maybe the thin stallion was pointing with his horn. It would put the danger a little bit further away, and that was okay with him. It was probably a pit trap. Daring Do found those all the time, usually after she'd injured a wing.
Still nothing.
"I don't see it." He hated to admit failure, but he'd also hate to fall into a pit trap filled with spikes, snakes, or spiders.
"It's almost on your hoof." Indeed, the scrawny stallion's focus had shifted towards him. A strange feariosity settled in his gut as he tried to determine what was almost on his hoof.
The other colt's behavior held him in place. Surely, if it were truly a thing to be feared, and if it were close, the strange colt would be galloping off to find an adult. At the same time, it would be nice to know what he was looking for. "What is it?"
"A snail."
And then he saw it. He knew nothing about snails; in his mind, they were classed as small bugs that lived on grass and were another reason not to eat the lawn. He lifted his hoof, preparing to strike—
—but the other colt pushed him back. "What are you doing?"
"Squishing it."
"Why would you do that?"
Snips set his hoof back down as he pondered the question. He'd never thought about the why of a thing like squishing a bug before. It was just something you did because mom was shrieking about a spider in the hallway and a spider was a bug, and they were all pretty much the same.
Unlike the scurrying bugs at home, the snail didn't get very far while Snips pondered the question. Finally, he looked brightly at his new acquaintance. "Because it's a bug," he said.
"No it isn't. It's a snail."
"Well, it's a kind of bug."
"No, it's not. A snail is a mollusk."
Snips looked at him blankly.
"Like a clam?"
That was a word Snips knew, at least.
"It doesn't look anything like a clam."
"Trust me, it is."
Snips stared at it. If it had been anypony else who'd told him that snails weren't bugs, he wouldn't have believed them. But his mother had also said that the Neighponese were clever, and it had never occurred to him how unlikely it was that a nation of clever ponies would be starving.
Still, things weren't true until an adult confirmed them. Everypony knew that. And, as luck would have it, Miss Cheerilee was nearby. He would never know that she was keeping a close eye on the two misfits who weren't playing with the other foals, knowing from experience that they were likely to either be beaten up on a regular basis, or become psychopaths.
"Miss Cheerilee," Snips said eagerly. "He says snails are like clams. Is that true?"
Cheerilee nodded. "Yes, Snips. Snails and clams are both in the mollusk family."
"Told you."
Snips smiled. He'd overheard other ponies say he wasn't very smart, so it was a major coup to have his new friend be so clever, and Neighponese to boot. "What's your name?" he asked curiously. He'd heard it yesterday, of course, but there had been a lot of new ponies introducing themselves.
On top of that, during their introductions his eye had been drawn to the roll of paper behind Miss Cheerilee's desk. He liked cutting interlinked ponies in paper, and he'd often wondered what he could do if he had a long piece of paper. With a roll like Miss Cheerilee had, he could make a daisy-chain that would wrap around the whole schoolhouse.
"Snails."
"Like the bug."
"Mollusk."
Snips nodded in agreement. "I'm Snips." He stuck out his hoof, just like grown-up ponies did.
Snails instinctively bumped the outstretched hoof lightly before getting a slightly confused look on his face.
Luckily, Snips seized the initiative with the ultimate offer. "Do you want to share lunch?"
It only took Snails a second to decide. His mother was of the belief that only raw greens were good for a pony, and his lunch consisted of pasture grasses and vegetables wrapped in a nice big spinach leaf. He'd already noticed that all of his classmates had far more appealing lunches that he did, so for him, it was an easy choice. He nodded eagerly.
"Cool." Snips turned his head as the school bell rang out. A half-formed thought worked its way through his mind. If his new friend was Neighponese, he'd know all about origami, which was like cutting, except that it was folding instead. Sometimes he had to do that when his mom hid the scissors from him. "What do you know about origami?"